


On the Wind

by liginamite



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 14:31:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/623204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liginamite/pseuds/liginamite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From one life to the next, old friends are meant to help each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Wind

**Author's Note:**

> Written entirely on my phone, hopefully I'll get my laptop back soon. At any rate, first OUaT fic, aaaaaaah.

There had been one thing the Blue Fairy had mentioned to him, before she had flown off, and that was that there were certain things in this new form he would have to earn for himself. At the time, of course, it had made little sense. He was still reveling in his new body, twisting and turning to examine every last inch of himself. 

"You will need assistance in learning your new body," she had said, and he looked up at her as her eyes twinkled. "Friendship can be the most powerful tool in discovering things you couldn't do before. In fact, it may be crucial."

He's resting on Geppetto's shoulder, now, as the boy makes his way through a bustled town, tiny bristled feet held tight against the wool of his shirt as Jiminy attempts to get a few minutes of sleep. They had moved quickly from Geppetto's little cottage at Jiminy's insistence, wary of his parents discovering his absence and blaming the boy, and he had kept watch while his new friend slept, soothing the nightmares that bloomed in the wake of the tragedy. His voice was still new to him, still interlaced with the high pitched song of a cricket, but Geppetto could understand him well enough. 

Now exhausted, he's attempting to catch up on what sleep he can when one of the vendors calls out to them.

"That's a fine lucky cricket you've got there, boy."

Geppetto stops in his tracks, turning sharply, and Jiminy has little choice but to crack a weary eye open to see what the fuss is, for fear that the boy may get himself into trouble. The woman is old and wrinkled, her silver hair woven into messy braids that tumble down her front, eyes dark with age and knowledge as she peers at him. She looks suspicious.

Geppetto's voice is proud as he replies, a hand coming up to touch the coattails of Jiminy's tiny jacket. "This is my friend Jiminy," he explains, and pats the little cricket lightly, care in each movement. "He's my conscience!"

Jiminy feels the familiar pang of guilt that eats away at his stomach at the mention of such a noble title, but when Geppetto is older, when the boy trusts him, that is when he will explain that the miracle of a friend when he needed one most was not a miracle at all.

But the way that the boy talks of him, you would think Jiminy himself could spin wool into gold and back again. The woman squints at him some more, taking in his dapper little coat and his umbrella, and after another long moment she says, "aye, that there's a special cricket all right. Ain't sure what he's wearing clothes for. He's your pet?"

Jiminy chirps indignantly at that, wings fluttering and Geppetto pats him again. "No," he laughs. "He is a good friend. Better than a pet."

"You ought to keep him in a cage, boy," she continues and Geppetto gasps like she's suggested he go ahead and stomp on Jiminy while he's at it. For his part, Jiminy considers the merits of crawling under Geppetto's collar for the duration of this trip. He's been in a cage all his life, after all, and talk of another one makes his insides crawl with nausea. "A cricket that big could fly away when you ain't looking, and bring all your luck with it."

"Jiminy wouldn't fly away from me," Geppetto insists, and his voice is shockingly angry for a child, though, Jiminy muses, a boy his age has a right to be angry when he's still riding on the wave of tragedy that recently befell him. "And even if he did, he isn't a pet that I can keep in a cage or on a leash. He's my friend. I trust him to stay with me."

The collar is looking more and more appealing with each word that's exchanged. He chirps once, a sad but insistent little noise that has Geppetto turning on his heel away from the woman without a second glance. The boy reaches up as they head away from the town, his fingers cupped and Jiminy silently hops once from shoulder to hand, allowing Geppetto to hold him at eye level. 

"Jiminy," he says quietly, and his answer is another soft chirrup. "You wouldn't fly away, right? That old woman didn't know what she was talking about, right?"

Perhaps the boy had not been as confidant in his declarations as he had thought, Jiminy thinks with a feeling of dread. But then, the last time the boy had shown trust in a stranger--this stranger--it had only ended badly. Trust was something that was earned, not bought, and this, clearly, was that first crucial step. 

"No," Jiminy says softly, antennae twitching. "No, of course I wouldn't." He pauses as Geppetto smiles gratefully at him, and offers carefully, "To be truthful, I've never flown. I didn't know I could. Can crickets fly?" 

The look of astonishment he gets makes him, for a brief second, frightful that he might have made a mistake; he is a cricket, shouldn't he know what he can and can't do? Had he already revealed himself?

But Geppetto just shakes his head in wonder. 

"You've never flown!" he says, and Jiminy fights the urge to droop a little in shame. He must not have fought very hard against it, though, because Geppetto hastily adds, "but surely we can teach you?" 

Jiminy considers briefly before carefully answering. "Perhaps tomorrow? I'm very tired, and flying doesn't seem like the best way to fix that."

"Of course." Geppetto laughs delightedly and sets the little cricket back on his shoulder. "Tonight, you rest. And tomorrow, you fly!"

It's later, however, when Geppetto is curled up warm and asleep beside a dying fire made in the woods that Jiminy hops onto one of the lower hanging branches and considers the ground beneath him. Surely flying can't be too difficult, right? Geppetto had offered to help him and there was no doubt in Jiminy's mind when that promise was made that he would, but Jiminy still wants some sort of a glance as to what he's in for. 

He ruffles his wings, thin and translucent as they emerge from beneath the hard, glossy shell of his back (and what a strange feeling it is, to have wings and a shell), fluttering and stretching slightly. They buzz softly, and he wiggles his lower half, trying to work himself up for a jump. 

It takes more than he thought it would to finally launch off of the branch, at least ten long minutes spent trying to work himself up to such a dangerous task, and sure enough when he does he goes toppling down. He beat his wings hard as he can, certainly, but as he bounces against the ground and finally rolls to a pitiful stop, he thinks perhaps he can't fly after all. Maybe the Blue Fairy had made him a type of cricket that couldn't fly. 

He tries again, an even lower branch this time, and it offers the same results as before, and again until he's lying in the dirt and sighing sadly. 

"You're never going to learn to fly like _that_ ," comes Geppetto's voice, sounding scolding in a way that only a child could, and Jiminy rolls over to see the boy leaning over him with his lips twisted in an unimpressed frown. "Flying is more than jumping and flapping your wings, Jiminy."

"Forgive me if I've never tried," Jiminy says before he can help it, last vestiges of his parents' influence dragged out in the wake of this humiliation. Geppetto, however, waves off the sarcasm and scoops his little cricket up in both hands, curling back up by the fire with his back against the tree.

"You need a push," Geppetto explains as he cups his hands and rests his arms against his knees. "Like a mama bird teaching her babies. Papa used to say that it was the mama's own strength added to her babies that helped them to fly."

Jiminy considers this, tilting his head in thought. 

"You could throw me," he finally suggests hesitantly, shifting from foot to foot, and Geppetto takes that in as Jiminy adds hastily, "not very far and certainly not very hard. I'm not a ball. But maybe a... a toss?"

Geppetto nods, and Jiminy ruffles his wings again uncertainly. 

The dawn finds them both standing in a meadow, the grass bent only slightly by a soft breeze, and Jiminy silently hops into Geppetto's hand, trying to calm himself down. It is no higher than the tree, really, but somehow this seems more important. 

"Remember," Geppetto says, "it's more than flapping your wings."

Jiminy nods, steeling himself up as Geppetto pulls his hands back, as if he were about to throw a ball. The rush of wind hits Jiminy hard as Geppetto swings his hands forward again, and for a moment the world goes still. 

He's launched, for lack of a better word, into the air and the wind catches his wings as he opens them, pulling him a little higher and without thinking he flutters and then buzzes, catching the wind between the thin expanse of each wing and letting it carry him. 

It takes Jiminy a second to realize that he's _flying_ , something thought impossible by humans. He's riding the wind with his wings, and as Geppetto whoops with delight underneath him, he remembers that he is no longer a human. He thinks of his parents, and lets the wind catch underneath him and he soars a little bit higher before fluttering down back into Geppetto's waiting hand.

"You did it!" the boy exclaims. "You flew!"

Jiminy nods, coming down slowly from the rush. "I couldn't have done it without you," he adds, touching one tiny hand to the tip of Geppetto's finger, and the boy grins at him.

"Of course. I will always help you. We're friends."

He may not have a mouth any longer to do so, but Jiminy knows he's smiling as he replies, "And I will help you."

-

Archie Hopper is, in a word, miserable.

On Dr. Whale's orders he's been confined to bed rest, and while he respects the man's professional decisions towards his well being, Archie can feel himself going stir crazy. He's bored and he's hungry and his ankle hurts and he really needs to pee.

It hadn't even felt like that bad of a sprain at the time. He'd been taking Pongo out for a walk, the dog even more excited than usual at the prospect of getting to romp around in the puddles left from the aftermath of a recent storm, and he'd taken a sharp turn that jerked Archie in a direction he hadn't been prepared to go. It was a twist of the ankle that had sent the poor doctor tumbling right to the ground, his dog doubling around to lick at his master's face in apology, and Ruby had been the one to help haul him to his feet and get him to hobble his way towards the hospital when walking unaided proved to be a mistake. 

But now two days later finds Archie struggling to push himself up out of his bed without jostling his purpled, swollen ankle, and it's proving to be a task that could very well knock him down for another day at least. 

His front door opens and Pongo lets out a delighted bark, running to meet their guest from where he'd been lying sullenly in his dog bed. Archie manages to push himself into a sitting position just as Marco walks in, and the old man clicks his tongue when he sees the state of his friend. 

"This is how you spend your time off, eh?" he teases, shaking a finger, and Archie very pointedly responds with, "it's not time off when it's sick leave."

Marco scoffs. "Come," he says and makes his way to Archie's side of the bed. "I will have you up and roaming the house. Good for your leg."

Archie huffs once before allowing Marco to help peel the covers off. "I have been going a little crazy just lying here. A walk could do some good."

"See? It's good to do things my way." Marco claps him once on the back before carefully ducking down. "You have helped me more times than I can count, my old friend," he says as he slings Archie's arm over his shoulders, pulling him out of the bed slowly and guiding him towards the door as Archie takes it hop by hop, his bad foot held up off the ground. "But do not forget, I am also here to help you."

"I would never," Archie grins softly at him. "Mostly because you wouldn't let me."

"This is true," Marco allows, nodding, and he carefully helps Archie out and down the hall towards the kitchen. "Now come. Today you hop, tomorrow you walk, eh?"

"We'll see. Hopefully."

Marco claps him on the back and squeezes his hand in both comfort and support. By the next day, he knows, his friend won't need him to walk, but he shall be there nevertheless.


End file.
